


It's You and Me (Lost, Then Found)

by Lucifuge5



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consentacles, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Past Torture, M/M, Magic, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Selfcest, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifuge5/pseuds/Lucifuge5
Summary: Death was easy or so some said. All you needed was to want it bad enough. After nearly a hundred years in, with 70 or so of those as Hydra’s fearsome property, Bucky Barnes wasn’t sure anymore.(Or, Bucky drifts through life after the fall of Hydra only to get taken by a gentle (and surprising!) kidnapper of sorts.)





	It's You and Me (Lost, Then Found)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Heart as Wide as the Ocean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996762) by [Quarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra/pseuds/Quarra). 



Death was easy or so some said. All you needed was to want it bad enough. After nearly a hundred years in, with 70 or so of those as Hydra’s fearsome property, Bucky Barnes wasn’t sure anymore.

He had fought, maimed, and brought unholy terror into the hearts of whoever his handlers appointed as targets. In return, Hydra tried its hardest to erase everything that had made him a person too many times. His body held onto the horrors he’d survived, though. It made sense, in a twisted, semi-poetic way, that the aftermath of all the misery he’d endured had been hardwired to his bones.

Back on the D.C. streets and up in the helicarrier, the blond man knew too. Or, at least, his actions hinted at being aware of what Bucky had lived through. A tiny part of Bucky’s soul was grateful that someone did. That he’d be remembered.

~o~

His own brain not resembling mush was a result of whatever Zola and his gang of white coat-wearing ghouls had done to him. Problem was that many of the time gaps in his mind were large enough to fit two M4 Sherman tanks side by side. The fuckton of research he did on the internet barely managed to clear things up.

About the one nice thing was putting a name to the blond man’s face: _Steve_. A strange mix of longing and annoyance ran through him whenever he focused on Steve. His mind not-so-helpfully offered flashes of Steve looking frail yet beautiful juxtaposed with his current bodybuilder’s body. The whisper of a memory involving living together when Steve was smaller and sharing a cot in the middle of a war was the start of a furious headache, one that left him feeling too nauseous to do anything else but lay down on the floor of the empty warehouse he was currently squatting at. The harder he tried to piece everything together, the more slippery things got.

His body’s response to focusing on anything and everything related to what he knew about Steve proved to be too much. He ended up losing two whole days. Cutting himself off from thinking about Steve still left him with way too many questions he yearned to get answers for.

Like his arm, for example.

Whose brilliant idea had it been to fuse a metal limb to Bucky’s left arm? What was it made out of? When did he get it? How long did it take for Bucky to learn just how little pressure it’d take to crush someone’s windpipe if he used his left hand instead of his right one?

OK, so some of his questions would not be acceptable in polite company. Murder was a nasty business and Hydra had excelled at honing Bucky’s status as a weapon almost to a molecular level. Not that they would ever tell him how they did that. Nothing like electroshock sessions and doing time in a human-sized freezer before being trotted out to kill some unlucky soul to keep Bucky in the dark. Leave it to Nazi cults to be scarily efficient in the creepiest of ways.

His handlers’ faces changed, some occasionally aging despite Bucky’s inability to keep track of the passage of time. One mission he’d be sweating thru his tac gear while picking up explosives in a house in Xuctzul. Next time, he was adjusting the telescopic sights, waiting for one man in a motorcade that drove in the Texan autumn. Another time, he tracked a jeep speeding through Odessa…

Bucky would sit still for as long as it necessary whenever he got prepped for a mission or returned from one. He had no idea when he learned to yield like some domesticated beast. Still, he would always end up swallowing the sour taste of _wrongness_ at being so easily handled, surrendering to the agonizing urge to obey.

Bucky excelled at complying.

Thing was, people liked talking. Including those indoctrinated into the Hydra bullshit.

Techs had full conversations around him while checking his vitals or replacing a rare dented metal plate on his forearm. Most of it was trivial stuff: what so-and-so’s wife was making for dinner, the new car that the other tech had bought, the latest political thriller novel by that very popular Hydra author, etc.

Most times, he couldn’t shut out the techs’ constant chatter just like he couldn’t ignore the ozone-like smell when his arm got repaired or the glare from the halogen lamps all around him in the examination chamber. So he endured their testing and prodding, aware of everything but unable to do anything about it. If he was really lucky, his consciousness could sink into memories of summer nights sitting on New York rooftops or wading through knee-high snow and mud alongside other men as they followed a man wearing a red, white, and blue uniform.

But those moments would fade away as soon as he got some measure of comfort. And Bucky would find himself mourning for something he couldn’t explain.

There was one time, two missions before the last one in D.C., where a couple of techs chatted in hushed tones about the Unseen One. At first, the words didn’t amount to nothing more than gibberish to Bucky. This was far from the first time he’d heard Hydra lore spoken around him. But the techs’ reverential tone bounced around in Bucky’s mind until somewhere deep inside, under all the carefully placed layers of obedience and conditioning, something pulled. _Hard_.

His metal fist connected with a tech’s nose before he had a chance to stop himself, a satisfying crunching sound followed by lots of screaming. He felt the bite of a tranq dart somewhere near his neck a few seconds later and then two more, right after he’d managed to break his restraints and stand up. The numbness that followed was unpleasant, his vision growing blurry even while taking stock of how many guns were aiming at him. He fought the urge to fall asleep for as long as he could before surrendering to an uneasy darkness.

The guards’ fast response indicated this had been far from the first time he’d pushed through the brainwashing. Bucky wished he could file that thought for later, but Hydra would undoubtedly scrambled up his mind again. Or, at least, they tried. The memory of that brief instance of freedom refused to be erased. He had woken up to the Hydra scientists’ expectant faces and questions about why he’d "fallen out of compliance".

Maybe it was a miracle, the bootleg serum, Bucky’s sheer stubbornness or a combination of all three, but he was able to catch onto what Hydra was trying to do. He grabbed that memory, holding it as close as he could, and pretended he’d once again become an empty vessel. Despite how small of a rebellious act it was, he protected it like the precious thing it was. Ended up pushing the elation he’d felt so far down that his handlers had smugly assumed it had been deleted from his soul.

Bucky himself would have completely forgotten about all of that had not been for what had happened after he was several meters into the Potomac. He was kicking hard, metal arm stretched out as Steve’s body continued to sink down in the murky waters, when he sensed the now-familiar tug once again...

**One year later**

Army sniper, skilled assassin, and now a sailor-for-hire. Bucky’s imaginary resume would be a thing to behold for any mid-level crimelord with a greater-than-average thirst for power. Hydra had given him an array of skills that repulsed him as much as it impressed others. For now, he kept all that knowledge, and blood, and horror under the surface.

The best option for him, now that Hydra had been exposed, was to settle into the life of an average Romanian man.

Blending in with the rest of the Singing Star’s crew had been relatively simple. Despite the metal arm--and that said something about the state of the world in the here and now. After alien invasions, superheroes, and magic, the world had grown weird enough for him to slip by mostly unnoticed. Forged documents, being able to speak several languages, and not minding taking on the shittiest shifts or the most boring tasks aboard a ship also helped.

He stuck to working routes in the Pacific and Indian Oceans almost exclusively. Avoiding all boats headed to North America was a no-brainer (a paranoid ex-assassin was an assassin who could still breathe.) Maybe by being constantly on the move, he wouldn’t be detected by anyone who would potentially be looking for him.

Besides, he could get all the fresh air he would ever want working on a boat. And staring at the ocean always had the ability to calm him down enough to enjoy being alive and on his own.

He had lived long enough to appreciate a nice thing or two.

~o~

Bucky did a silent yawn, thanking his finely honed internal clock as he stretched his arms up, not having to wait too long before being fully awake. Dhruv, his cabin mate, continued snoring so loudly Bucky was almost sure they could hear him on deck. Gede, the Shining Star’s captain, had probably chosen him after Bucky shrugged off the mention of Dhruv’s snoring. It really wasn’t a big deal. Well, bigger than normal. The military, and later Hydra, had given Bucky the ability to fall asleep even if a bomb went off a few meters away.

He rolled out of his too-small-for-his-body-size bed, trading a pair of well-worn sweats and a t-shirt that was ripping apart for his last clean pair of jeans, a dark grey henley, socks, and his usual work boots. Mid-November, temps wouldn't go lower than 29C on this side of the world. However, it was also a little past 1:00 a.m. in the middle of monsoon season. Nowhere near short-sleeve weather.

His stomach grumbled then, and he had a stray thought at the tunde kabab he’d devoured many hours ago. Despite a mild but persistent grogginess, his mind started to make a list of what he had to tackle next. Bathroom, coffee, some dal ka paratha from the mess, and checking in with Rishabh before starting his watch. He left his cabin with less than stealthy movements, wishing he hadn’t traded his first shift with Shaurya.

~o~

Three hours later, Bucky leaned against the stern's railing, enjoying the view as the ship continued on its voyage to Cape Town. He had made his first few rounds, doing his best to ignore the growing annoyance at how quiet everything was this late into the night. So he chanced a quick break if only to lessen the strange type of quiet anxiety that had begun to build up ever since he had stepped on deck. Sometimes, bad things happened when the world calmed down. He would know. He used to be one of those bad things.

Bucky inhaled the briny, his body beginning to loosen up as he stared into the dark sea. It was kind of an instinctual quirk: like being left-handed or preferring bittersweet foods over other flavors. No matter where he was: Coney Island, Zapallar or Phra Nang, ocean waters always unfurled a mix of misplaced wistfulness and genuine awe inside of him. It was when he was surrounded by water on all sides that he felt small in a way that was strangely comforting.

"Quiet night, eh," Nikolay said in a gruff voice.

Bucky nodded, feeling only mildly annoyed by Nikolay’s presence. "Yeah," he said as his mind searched for the blandest thing to say, "I never get tired of seeing the night sky."

"It’s the same sky everywhere." Nikolay shrugged, then produced a pack of cigarettes from one of his jeans’ back pockets. "Want one?"

"Sure." Bucky took a cigarette, inwardly relieved he could avoid all chitchat if only for a little while. He lit his cigarette, blowing smoke a few seconds later as his mind traveled back to nights in northern Italy, ankle-deep in mud, and listening to ill-translated French. He'd been trying to concentrate on where the memory was from, when he felt Nikolay's hand on his right shoulder, and was barely able to not jump up in surprise.

"Hey, did you see that?" Nikolay squinted at the dark sea.

"What?" Bucky's night vision was slightly better than the average person’s. The ship’s light only extended so far, though, and everything past it was lost to what some would describe as an eerie darkness.

Still, whether he’d picked up Nikolay’s excitement or not, he scanned from left to right, as if he was doing a perimeter check for an unknown enemy. Nikolay wasn’t the kind of person who enjoyed practical jokes. A methodical search yielded no results, and yet Bucky’s deep-seated paranoia wouldn’t let him relax. He pulled his left shoulder back, trying his best to ignore a borderline painful spasm in the place where metal had been fused to muscle and bone. Now was not the time for any kind of distraction.

"There it is again!" Nikolay said as he pointed at something glinting as it slid back into the water.

Bucky turned his gaze toward the spot. He bent forward, a sudden desperation bubbling up within him to catch a sight of whatever Nikolay had seen. Leaning on his upper body, he tried to balance it against the rail, squinting to get a better look. He opened his mouth to tell Nikolay that maybe they had found a giant squid, when the boat shook, tilting Bucky forward with such force that he flipped over the barrier, hitting his right knee against the metal as he fell.

"Man overboard! Help, help!" Nikolay’s shouts were the last thing Bucky heard before he plunged into the sea.

Gasping for air once he made it back to the surface, Bucky spent the next few seconds working out what had happened. Off in the distance, the ship continued to wildly pitch and roll, alarms blaring as some of the crew ran to the deck. His mind registered several large _tentacles_ pressing against the ship’s hull before disappearing into the waters.

The waves battered his body, water closing over the top of his head more than once. He pushed down the ripple of panic that swept through him, the strong currents pulling him away from the boat as if by some kind of invisible force. For now, his priorities were simple: swim close enough to the boat, get on board, then let his body rest. The pain in knee was hard to ignore. Had banged it real good. He had no other choice but to deal with it once he was safe. Not being able to use that leg diminished his chances to survive, he realized angrily.

It meant pushing his body in a way he’d end up paying for later, but Bucky thought he could make it. Moving his arms help him keep his body afloat for a few minutes, allowing him to focus and gauge the actual distance to the Shining Star. He glanced up to where some of the men shouted in his direction while others tried to keep from falling into the ocean as the boat continued to nearly tilt all the way to one side and then the other. Everyone seemed so really far away.

Maybe this was _it_ : curtains down without a grave to mark his passing. All he had to do was to give in and let his lungs fill with saltwater until he was gone. Every ounce of fear abandoned his body then, and the only thing left was to stop fighting and let his body drop all the way down. Back in his Asset days, Hydra had given him an idea of what drowning would feel like. He was an old hand at this.

The boat righted at last, snapping Bucky out of his dark mood. He wished he could have slapped himself. Mainly for doubting his instinct to survive. If he’d made it out of Hydra he would make it out of this mess too.

He had only started swimming his way toward the boat when something in the water wrapped around his right leg, ripping a scream out of him as it held him back. He tried kicking at it with his left leg, adrenaline winning over the fear that he was going to end up in some animal’s belly. It tighten its grip in response. Whatever it was, it was _hungry_. Fuck.

All of his knives were aboard the ship so there went his next brilliant plan. Fighting back against the creature in the middle of the fucking night was far from ideal, but there were no other options. He took the deepest breath he could and then dove into the water, patting his leg with the metal arm until he could grab whatever the fuck had thought of him as food. Lungs feeling like they were burning, he managed to slide his fingers into a tiny space between the tentacle and his leg and flexed his arm with all of his strength.

Instead of letting him go, the thing squeezed him even tighter and then pulled him downwards. The last of the oxygen rushed out his mouth while his body continued to get tugged into absolute darkness. He wanted to laugh as he accepted that this was really it. Not an enemy’s bullet, not some alien’s ray gun or even an evil wizard’s spell. Less than a year ago, Bucky had wanted to die. It seemed like, at last, the universe had decided to grant him his wish.

~o~

Death felt a lot like drifting for all eternity on a bed made of strong and thick vines. So far, so good.

Bucky opened one eye. The sky had begun to grow lighter. A sense of calm surrounded him. It was so easy to let the rocking motion lull him back to sleep. He was _done_.

~o~

The first thing that Bucky sensed when he came to the second time was that he wasn't alone. No, scratch that. The actual first thing Bucky became aware of was the fact that he had no fucking idea of his current location.

Ignoring the ongoing queasiness in his stomach, he tried, at first, to focus on sounds: a steady murmur of ocean waves and the echo of seagulls squawking far in the distance. Then, he switched over to what he could feel: a cool and hard surface (possibly the floor) underneath him, a mild breeze that teased his skin, the overall stiffness of his clothes after drying while wearing them. His heartbeat. His heart.

Which, in turn, made him momentarily ignore the bone-deep ache throughout his body. So much for being _dead_.

Slowly, he dug the fingers of his left hand into the palm, the sensors alerting him to the pressure. A wave of relief washed through him. The arm was functional. No, not the arm. _His arm_.

"You know, Bucky, you can quit the Sleeping Beauty routine. I know you’re awake," a voice said from somewhere above him. The hint of annoyance wasn’t lost on Bucky. "Pretending you’re not is a waste of our time."

Bucky sighed. One year and change of freedom only to end up back under someone's thumb. Peachy. OK, so he was in some unknown place with someone who probably wouldn’t hesitate to turn him over to whatever was left of Hydra. Great. "Whatever Hydra's gonna pay you, I can double it," he said, gritting through his teeth.

Hopefully, his mysterious kidnapper didn’t mind being so blunt.

"Hydra?" the person said with an arrogant tone. "Oh. _Them_." A couple of heavy thuds followed.

Startled by the sound, Bucky opened his eyes and sat up at last only to realize that his earlier assessment of his captor being a person was both right and wrong. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself from widening his eyes as he studied the person in front of him. Same gray-blue eyes, same straight nose, even that goddamn cleft in his stubble-covered chin. Bucky recognized the face in front of him because it was the ugly mug he’d see whenever he looked at himself in the mirror.

But the fun house effect didn’t stop there. Oh no. Whoever, _whatever_ , this was, he even had the same fucking left metal arm. He shuddered as his mind caught up with this apparition, part-nightmare, part-identical copy.

Bucky glanced at his own arm then, a stupid happy reassurance that his was still attached to his body. Relief setted over him after confirming that no one had taken it away while he’d been unconscious.

And there was still one last, extremely disturbing, shocker that surpassed the fact that this creature was Bucky’s exact twin. Once you looked past his waist, his pale skin grew gray then dark blue until all you saw was tentacles.

What the fuck?

Four, seven, ten...Ten individual tentacles of different widths supported this other Bucky, this thing. _Me as a matinee monster_ , Bucky thought, unable to look away or make any kind of sound.

So, this was what going crazy really felt like. His breathing picked up as his mind failed to explain this other self that stood in front of him looking at Bucky way too calmly and maybe he did die only not really and now this other thing had his face and his arm and what did it all mean because he couldn’t get enough air. He tried to inhale but his throat chose that moment to rebel. So he forced his lungs to expand, to draw another breath because his heart was beating way too fast, but it _wasn’t working_ and he couldn’t, he couldn’t...

Some aspect of his Asset training took over then and he found comfort in wrapping it around all the sharp places of his mind. The irony of clinging to his Winter Soldier conditioning wasn’t lost on him, but it would’ve been stupid to not use any and all tools at his disposal. He growled "stop!" at the creature, flesh arm raised, when he saw it, saw _himself_ gliding closer.

Bucky leaned on his left arm, fully aware that, if attacked, he probably wouldn’t make it past the first round. The Other Bucky froze up, arms crossed and a serene expression on his face. One of his tentacles tapped against the floor.

"I--"

_Tap, tap, tap_

"You--"

_Tap, tap, tap_

Bucky closed his mouth. Nothing he was on the verge of saying was going to make sense. A moment later, he lowered his right hand, tamping down the urge to hug himself. Instead, he looked at the floor, at the walls, at anything but what was in front of him. But, in the end, his eyes would inevitably return to his other self.

"I can wait," the Other Bucky said casually. The tentacle stopped moving, then slithered back in line with the rest. "This is a lot. I hadn’t thought about that."

The Other Bucky’s words filtered through Bucky’s ears like he was talking from a sat phone with not-so-great reception while in the middle of a tropical downpour. Bucky saw himself from three places at once: surveying the bizarre scene from high above, standing patiently on tentacles like some kind of sea monster, and a worn out version that was all hunched shoulders, mere seconds away from losing his grip on reality and never coming back.

Had he been drugged? Perhaps he was still drowning and this was his brain’s last hurrah as it died from lack of oxygen somewhere in the Bay of Bengal. He doubled over, holding onto his stomach, and closed his eyes. Everything kept tilting every which way.

"Hey," the Other Bucky said while he placed gently placed one of his tentacles on Bucky’s right shoulder. "You’re probably in shock. I didn’t. I wanted--"

Startled, Bucky slid backwards, using all of his will to not show that the pain radiating from his knee was making him woozy, only stopping when his back hit a wall. Moving slowly, he half-pushed, half-crept upwards until he was standing. He chanced a quick look at the softball-sized bulge that had once been his knee and fought off the way his stomach twisted every which way. He was who knows where, had most probably gone insane, and there was a thing who was him with giant squid tentacles.

For all he knew his knee might be shattered. The very real possibility of having to drag his right leg if and when he tried to escape was already giving him a headache on top of the one he had since he woke up. Figuring out a plan that worked around his knee would take a lot of fucking creativity.

"Um, sorry about that," the Other Bucky said, a remorseful expression on his face, his eyes glued to Bucky’s knee. "Things got chaotic way too fast."

"Don't worry about it," Bucky answered through gritted teeth. He studied his surroundings as subtly as he could, in between making sure that the Other Bucky had kept his distance this time. Maybe there was something around he could use as a weapon. "I'm sure we can figure out a way to make it even."

One good thing: the large room they were in had floor-to-ceiling windows he could jump out of when the time came. He could see the ocean from the place he was struggling to keep upright: the blue of the water only a little bit darker than that of the clear sky. It glittered as if it was covered with diamond dust. One bad thing: the angle indicated they were somewhere high. What would be the point of jumping if he ended up with another broken limb?

Thick cushions the size of ponies laid in groups near one of the windows and in front of an ornate fireplace right out a big Hollywood movie. A low, dark wooden table had been set in the middle of the room and smaller cushions placed around it. Bucky glanced at all the soft places and inwardly sighed. Between the pain from his knee and the twinge in his shoulder making a surprise guest appearance, Bucky really wished he could be laying down right now.

His first priority would be to incapacitate the Other Bucky. Yet his body was currently running at 30% at best. Had he been a religious man, he’d have sent out a prayer to some deity. Alas.

"I saw a chance and took it," the Other Bucky said, shaking Bucky out of his observations. He cleared his throat. "Took you."

Bucky licked his lips, wincing at the roughness of the skin. It had been at least a day since he had last drank something. "Why." He swallowed with some difficulty. "Why did you take me?"

The Other Bucky raised a tentacle, wiggling it in the air for a few seconds. "So you don't want to know who I am or why we look the same?"

"One thing at a time, sweetheart," Bucky said with false bravado. "First, I want to know why you’re rarin’ to fill my dance card. I’ve always been a wining and dining type of fella."

The Other Bucky gave him a small smile, then slid a little bit closer, his tentacles gliding soundlessly on the dark stone floor. "I’ve been looking for you. It’d been so long since I was last able to sense you. And you were so near! I almost didn’t believe it. A little over a year ago. I reached out but you were physically too far away." He frowned. "This world is so small yet not at the same time."

"A year ago," Bucky said to himself. One year ago he was trading punches with some guy he had never met but not completely forgotten. One year ago, he had saved that man, going so far down into waters that stank of oil and death, he thought he would end up drowning too.

One year ago, he noticed a presence in his mind, calling to him, only to fade when his left hand grabbed some part of Steve’s old uniform. He’d dismissed it before dragging them back to the surface. "The river. That was _you_?"

The Other Bucky nodded, staring at him with an expectation that puzzled Bucky. One of his tentacles swished like a cat’s tail.

"I wanted to believe that you had felt me," the Other Bucky said, eyes shining with hope.

It was then when Bucky reached his limit on crazy. He pushed himself away from the wall, hoping that he didn't appear as weak as he felt, and stood, favoring his left leg. Who knew if he would be able to fight his way out of this, and yet his mind was already searching for weak points in the Other Bucky’s body. For the first time in, well, _ever_ , he wished he was wearing his old Winter Soldier uniform. Instead of the dirty jeans and his ripped henley. His fingers itched for a knife.

"Listen, _pal_ , I don't--," he had begun to say when his left leg folded under him, gravity pulling his body forward. It was clear he was going to faceplant to oblivion. The last thing he remembered, as he closed his eyes and prepared for impact, was the strange feeling of six strong arms holding him mere inches from the stone floor.

~o~

One of the few things that hadn’t been Hydra’s fault was Bucky’s inability to remember his dreams. For him, sleep was absolute darkness. Whatever his mind conjured up while snoozing would disappear as soon as he opened his eyes.

Steve could, though, reminisce about anything and everything he had dreamed about. And do so with such clarity and exacting detail that it would occasionally leave Bucky feeling a low thrum of envy. He and Steve would talk about Steve’s dreams in the morning while scrounging up something to eat for breakfast, back when they lived together many decades ago.

~o~

For the first time in Bucky's life, he was not only dreaming but also very aware of that this was his brain throwing a huge piece of a puzzle at him. It was like watching a movie and not worrying about what going to happen next. A thrill went through him as he saw the images unfold in front of him until he became part of the dreaming too.

A violet sea he knew he’d never seen before. He (they?) stood on light green sand. Two bright orange suns glowed high in red skies. Waves. His breaths mimicked their ebb and flow. He hadn't meant to do that, yet it still happened. They were alone.

A portal. He could see the rip from his reality and into another that was strange. The edges of the split blurred. A window into a world that was covered with white stuff. Curious. They recognized the words.

Something came through. No, it was _taken_.

~o~

" ‘m real tired of waking up in strange places," Bucky said out loud, waiting for the feeling of confusion to subside. He could still taste the _wrongness_ of whatever had happened in the dream.

It was definitely later. Not that he had seen any clocks anywhere in this madhouse, but the soft chirps of the night insects coming through a window clued him in. He’d opened his mouth only to pause mid-yawn and then closed his mouth at once. His face didn’t hurt. Didn’t he fall?

The soft, cushy surface he rested on was the complete opposite of anything he’d felt in literal years. He’d been moved to a new room, one with smaller windows and an actual bed instead of a mountain of pillows. The lack of restraints on his arms or legs was odd (was he a prisoner?) But that wasn’t the weirdest thing. There was a tentative pressure on his right knee and several things that didn’t quite feel like hands spreading some type of goo that smelled of tropical flowers and mint. A slight tingling sensation spread all over the skin of his knee.

Wait a minute, his skin?

Bucky cracked open one eye and then the other, biting back a gasp when he saw three of the Other Bucky’s tentacles sliding all over the swollen area, their movements tentative. That was pretty high on the list of freaky things that had ever happened to him.

His legs weren’t the only parts of him that were exposed. The rest of him was too.

Nudity had never really bothered him. Everyone had one out of the two possible bits between their legs. It hadn’t been a big deal before Hydra (and if it had, serving in the Army would’ve stamped out any embarrassment) or after (he’s sure hundreds of scientists, guards, and techs had seen his twig and berries over the decades.) The only problem he had with being naked, especially in a situation like this one, was that he had a lot more soft parts to protect. "OK, so where are my pants?"

"Shhh, stay still. I don’t want to hurt you," the Other Bucky said quietly.

"Yeah," he said, eyes tracking the movements of the tendrils, "that would be far from ideal right now." He could see now that some of the tentacles had suckers that ran all over the bottom of the limb while others were smooth all the way around. They glided over his leg slowly, reminding Bucky of the way large snakes moved. Well, if the snake’s skin had been a deep blue that turned slightly iridescent when the light reflected off it. Their touch was warm, like someone’s hand, and, almost against his will, Bucky experienced a growing fascination with how they undulated to and fro. Deep down, he knew he should try to seize the moment, do something, anything to gain some measure of advantage. However, even deeper, he chased the caresses, submitting to the pleasurable feeling they left in their trail unapologetically.

"This will help you with the swelling," the Other Bucky said as he wiped the three tentacles he’d touched Bucky with against a piece of cloth he held in his right hand. "Your body is already healing, of course, but I don’t mind helping it along."

Bucky’s heart stirred at the Other Bucky’s words. He had no idea when was the last time someone hadn’t touched him like he had been a _thing_. Rather than examining whatever he was feeling (he really wasn’t in the mood to go dig into the minefield that was his brain), he glared at the Other Bucky. "So who are you?"

"I am--" The Other Bucky gave him a gentle look, biting his lower lip. He frowned as if considering what to say.

Bucky tried to raise an eyebrow as he waited for a reply, but exhaustion made him close his eyes instead. The ghost of a tentacle tracing Bucky’s brow was the last thing he felt before descending into unconsciousness.

~o~

He came to in small increments. First there were the goosebumps all over his body. Then, the steady tension from inside his knee as muscle, cartilage and bone continued to repair themselves. The headache had lessened from non-stop hammering to a dull and steady pain. Hopefully, he’d be able to stand up and move around sooner rather than later.

Opening his eyes took more effort than he would've thought possible.

"I'll get the fire going in just a sec," the Other Bucky said, one of the tentacles daintily placing a small log on top of a pile in a stone fireplace opposite from where Bucky was. "I am, erm, a little out of practice," he added before waving his hands in the air until sparks fell to the logs below. Huh, neat trick.

"Wa-water," Bucky whispered. He observed the Other Bucky as he straightened up and crossed the room in that silent way that was equal parts creepy and fascinating. He picked up a metal ewer that was on a table near the bed, pouring water into a cup he held up with one of his tentacles, and finally turning around to face Bucky.

"Can you sit?" the Other Bucky said. Just like before, he wore no clothing or jewelry. His hair had been styled into a long braid.

Bucky tried to lift himself up, arms trembling for a moment before giving out. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this weak. His throat was raw, as if someone had taken a sheet of sandpaper and had gone to town on it. "Fucking pour it on me. I don’t care," he rasped.

He inhaled sharply when a couple of tentacles slid in between the bed and his body, steadily going across the middle of his back, their solid pressure against his bare skin undoing a tiny knot of tension in Bucky. They continued to snake around, curling over until the tips rested close to his bellybutton. "Oh," he said, flustered and intrigued at the same time.

The Other Bucky rolled his eyes, a comical yet perfect imitation of Bucky’s usual eye-roll, and began to pull back his limbs, still holding the cup with his flesh arm.

A stray tentacle rose up, maybe to assist the other two currently holding him, and Bucky stuck his left arm out, grabbing the tendril automatically. He stared at the Other Bucky, waiting until he got a quick nod before giving it a gentle squeeze. The tentacle curled up and around his arm, its suckers rippling for a second before adhering themselves to the metal. Its color going from royal blue to a vivid indigo. Bucky savored an unfamiliar _thrill_ fluttering in him after realizing how supple it was. "Sorry," he said.

" 's fine," the Other Bucky replied, "But how about you don’t die of thirst?"

Bucky let go of the limb after what felt like an embarrassingly long time, then took the offered cup between his hands and gulped the water down. The coolness of the water made him sigh with relief. He drank another cup just as desperately.

"You want more?" The Other Bucky raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving into a cryptic smile. Bucky noticed that the tentacle he’d grabbed had gone back to its usual color.

"No, I'm--" Bucky's stomach grumble was so loud he couldn't help laughing. "Wouldn't know where I could go to get some grub, huh?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," was the Other Bucky's reply. "My pantry's usually well-stocked," he added. "Even for someone of our appetites."

~o~

Stomach full and his body slowly patching itself back together, Bucky settled back onto the mountain of pillows behind him, waiting until the Other Bucky had made their plates disappear--by waving two of his tentacles over them--to see what else he could found out about him. Despite having no experience with magic being done in front of him, this was still the least weird thing that Bucky had seen lately. "All right, what’s going on? Why do you look like me? You ask me, that," he said, pointing at the Other Bucky’s left arm, "is almost overkill.

"So, you’re no longer wondering why I’ve brought you my _lair_?" the Other Bucky said, extending his arms with flourish.

"Can’t keep calling you ‘Bucky’ in my head. It’s too weird. Like I’m talking about myself in third person when I’m talking about you. Me. Whatever." He exhaled, wishing things would start making sense.

"I'm not sure you _can_ pronounce my full name. It might be missing a couple of vowels," the Other Bucky said, scrunching up his face in a way that Bucky found eerie. "How about James? After all, that is our name. Here I mean."

Bucky squinted. "You mean "here" as in this country, right? Wherever we are."

James chuckled. The off-kilter feeling from when Bucky had first seen James returned.

"No," James said, smirking. "Here as in this _reality_."

So much for a logical explanation. "Uh-huh. Never thought my particular brand of crazy would include another me who is an interdimensional half sea monster. Got it."

Bucky’s sarcastic tone wasn’t lost on James. "Nooo," he replied, dragging the word for emphasis. "Nothing’s wrong with your sanity, sheesh. Are you always this melodramatic? Anyway, I’m from Earth. Well, another Earth. Think of reality as a series of threads that run parallel to each other. In some threads, we might have wings, in others we’re a woman. Other Buckys are dead or yet to be born," he continued, counting off each example with different tentacle. "It can give you a headache if you think about for too long."

"Kinda, uh, late for the headache warning. I think a couple of baby elephants just stomped all over my head," Bucky said, grimacing. James’ face folded into a remorseful expression. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw a couple of James’ front tentacles reaching out before curling back. The disappointment about not feeling James’ tentacles on him was new and exciting enough to nullify any wariness.

"As I was saying, we exist across many, um, universes. Each one of us is slightly different." One of James’ tentacles rubbed itself against his left arm. "There are some constants, though."

Bucky caught himself before leaning toward James. "Like what?"

"We always lose a limb, for one. Also, Steve is connected to us. He can always find us. Unfortunately, so can Hydra." James shrugged. "I wasn’t told much. Got the impression that Wong told me a lot more than he should have. I don’t know."

"Who?"

"The wizard who found me and tried to help me return to my reality. We, erm, came to an agreement after it was obvious he’d failed," James said, acting a little cagey for the first time since Bucky had been rescued by him. "Maybe too much time had passed since…"

A strange awareness settled on him, focusing on the back of his neck which began to feel hot. Much as he didn’t want to hear the answer, he still couldn’t help asking the very next thought that popped up in his mind. "Too much time had passed since _when_ exactly?"

James pointed at his left arm with a tentacle, then Bucky’s. "Since Hydra trapped me here."

~o~

"What do they have to do with you?" Bucky scowled, eyes fixed on James’ metal arm, no longer caring to hide any suspicion from his words. "Did they turned me into a weapon because of you? Did you worked with them? Do you know what they made me _do_ once I was theirs? How much I’ve lost?

The first nights after Steve and his friends brought Hydra to its knees, I stayed awake for as long as I could. Because I remembered _way more_ than I probably should and, when I closed my eyes - - the nightmares. Hearing that you were involved in this is a whole ‘nother level of fucked up."

His eyes began to water. "Children, women, anyone. Hydra only had to point at a target and there I went. Like an unstoppable, blood-thirsty monster. My body obeying their commands no matter how hard I tried to stop myself. And what they offered me for my guilt and my pain was far from comfort." He closed his eyes, letting the first of many tears roll down his face. "I wasn’t anything special. Before. Ended up being even less after they were done with me."

"Hey, it wasn’t your fault," James whispered as he grabbed Bucky’s hands with his own. "It wasn’t."

Bucky’s vision became blurry, but he continued to stare at the two sets of identical hands. The upside-down feeling he’d experienced when he first saw James threatened to return. Slowing down his breathing wasn’t helping him regain any control over himself.

By now, James had moved closer, the heat of his body making Bucky feel even more tied up inside. A couple of tentacles wriggled against Bucky’s left leg, sweeping over it, and their weight became a kind of anchor that remained slightly out of Bucky’s grasp. James frowned. Bucky got the feeling it was more out of concern than anything resembling disgust. He moved forward, straddling Bucky’s hips with a graceful maneuver, until he towered above him. Their gazes focused on each other.

A series of thoughts swirled inside Bucky’s mind: _touch me, don’t touch me, come here, leave me alone._ He couldn’t stick to one before jumping to the next and then double back. Who knew how long it had been since someone had been gentle with him; he wasn’t in any condition to accept kindness. Giving into whatever James was trying to do would lead to places Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to go. Not now, when the enormity of what James was saying had only managed to confuse him even more.

"Fucking let me go!" Bucky said, pulling against the tentacle that had slithered around his left arm. The more he struggled, the tighter the hold became. It was then that he noticed his other arm and legs were pinned down too.

"You can keep tugging, but you're not going anywhere until you calm down," James said, leaning over Bucky. His eyes were compassionate, too soft for someone like--like him.

Bucky shook his head. Whatever embarrassment he had felt when he had first started crying had been squashed by the complicated mess in his head. James continued to talk to him, his voice steady. Bucky’s mind was everywhere at once and he chose to hold on to James’ calm tone instead of trying to process the meaning of his words.

He continued to weep silently, almost unaware of what was happening around him. James stretched his body on top of Bucky then, resting his head on Bucky’s right shoulder, and an enormous chunk of Bucky’s furious thoughts began to dissipate at last.

The exhaustion that followed was almost welcomed.

"Shhhh," James whispered, his breath tickling Bucky’s right ear. After some time, Bucky felt James place his hands at either side of Bucky’s head and push himself up, supporting himself above Bucky with ease.

The grip around his arms and legs hadn’t exactly softened. Still, for the first time since being found by James, Bucky considered the idea that he didn’t mind being held down by him one bit. He closed his eyes, yielding to the soothing calm that resulted from that realization.

~o~

"I didn’t know what had happened at first," James said some time later. "Other than someone chanted words he didn’t fully understand to bring me into your world. When I came to, I was imprisoned in a cage forged with the darkest magic I’d ever seen. He told the little man with the glasses--"

"Zola," Bucky added bitterly, blinking his eyes open and immediately regretting how gritty they felt.

"Yes, Zola. He told him I was to become a vessel. That these," James said, waving a couple of tentacles in the air, "were a portent, a symbol of Hydra’s new world.

I have no idea what they gave me, but it dulled my senses in the most unpleasant way. Next time I woke up, I had a few tubes hooked to my tentacles, and they were draining my blood. From time to time, I saw them giving to other people who were restrained on metal tables. They mustn’t have been strong enough, though. I don’t know. All of them kept dying just hours after getting a transfusion of my blood. Zola and the rest of his people grew more and more frustrated after every failure. I chose to hone my anger and be patient.

One day, a tall man in a white coat walked into the area right outside my cell, talking too fast for me to understand clearly. Zola pointed at me and asked the assistant if he was sure. The man nodded excitedly and the two of them left. I’m not sure how much time went by. But eventually they brought you in. You were unconscious and missing part of your left arm."

"Don’t--Don’t tell me any more about that," Bucky said as a wooziness started in the pit of his stomach. Out of all the things he had trouble remembering, the creation of the Fist of Hydra was one of the most fragmented. He was in no hurry to get all of the pieces just yet.

James seemed to understand. He pressed his lips on a thin line and then inhaled. "Fine. Moving on, my patience paid off in the end," he said, "and I was able to escape.. My one regret is that I couldn’t take you with me. After who knows how long in captivity, I had grown far too weak to do anything other than slink away to safety. When I returned to the lab, determined to rescue you, all I found were burnt ruins and corpses.

My failure to save you destroyed me. I sat down on the snow, more alone than I’d ever been before. Someone found me years later, entombed in ice. That person was a friend of a friend of a student of Wong’s. As for the rest," he sighed tiredly, "I’m bound by a spell to not reveal the rest of what happened." James pushed himself up and away from Bucky, adding an extra level of finality to his story.

For a moment, Bucky wondered what he was missing more: the heat from James’ body or the sensation of his tentacles pinning him down. He let his eyes roam all over James: from his face with those features that were interchangeable with his own to the slope of his shoulders. He studied the place where his metal arm was fused to his body. The scarring was minimal when compared to his own. "Am I?"

Resting on some of his tentacles, a few folded under him as if they were legs, James raised an eyebrow and flapped his hands elegantly. "Are you--"

"Never mind," Bucky said, his face growing hot. His eyes followed the tentacle closest to him as it undulated toward his right leg.

"If you don’t tell me," James said in a mocking tone, "I’m going to have to tickle you."

Bucky leaned on his elbows, rolling his eyes at James’ bad joke at the same time he snickered. "By my count, you have a lot more places to be ticklish than me," he said, riding the teasing vibe.

"Touché," James replied, "but, at least, I’m the better smelling one."

"Tsk, tsk. Guess I’m pretty rank, huh? Something tells me you wouldn’t be smelling too rosy after nearly drowning only to be rescued by your tentacled twin."

"One, I spent half of my life in the ocean back home. Two, we’re the same person, not brothers," James said.

"And third?"

"Third, you should stop stalling," James concluded, standing to his full height. He offered his flesh hand to Bucky at the same time that one of his tentacles slithered under and around Bucky’s waist. "No tickling or other funny business, I promise. You need to get cleaned up in the worst way possible and I doubt you’d make it to the bathroom without my help."

"Oh, and here I was was thinking you liked me for my natural smell," Bucky huffed once he was on his feet, carefully testing how much of his weight his right leg could support before it became too painful. Walking was not going to happen tonight--there was no complete knee to speak of--so he would have to settle for dragging it. Not exactly ideal, but doable.

"Don’t be an ass and just let me hold you," James replied as two of his tentacles wrapped themselves on Bucky’s lower torso and legs. "You weigh more than a pillow, but I am not going to drop you."

A tiny giggle escaped Bucky’s lips when James swooped him up and he clasped his hands around James’ neck without giving it too much thought. He opened his mouth, ready to mention his right leg, promptly closing it once he saw one tentacle fasten around it (carefully avoiding the less deformed knee). The firm pressure of the tentacle’s suckers as they adhered to Bucky’s skin eased some of his inner tension. "Feeling like a damsel," he muttered when the silence started to bother him.

"Huh, some damsel you are," James commented as they made their way out of the room.

The long hallway ahead of them was wide and tall enough to fit both of them without much difficulty. The cooler temperature helped Bucky stay awake rather than give into the comforting warmth from James’ body.

They entered a larger room that had stone walls and one huge window. Bucky stared out at the nighttime world outside, wondering how long it would be before he could rejoin it. The bathtub, placed exactly next to the window, was wide to the point of being able to hold at least three Bucky-sized people. The material was similar to the one on the walls: a slate gray stone seemingly carved by someone with a lot of patience. Bucky studied James, inwardly marveling at how he was able to open a tab from which hot water rushed through while balancing Bucky’s weight without jostling him too much. "Don’t let go until I tell you so, OK?" James said, once he’d tested the temperature with the tip of a tentacle.

"All right," Bucky answered, swallowing hard as he was placed inside the tub. He exhaled as he sank into the just-a-smidgen-too-hot water. Eyes half-closed, he caught glimpses of James pouring a green liquid into the water. A clean scent filled the room, its woodsy aroma helping Bucky feel less anxious. "Aaah," was the only thing he was able to say after James began to scrub the griminess off him with a sponge that felt deliciously rough against his skin.

Back when he was Hydra’s favorite weapon, Bucky’s maintenance included a thorough wash every time before or after he was in cryo. From a tactical standpoint, it made sense: the unstable nature of world politics meant that the Winter Soldier needed to always be ready to get deployed at a moment’s notice. His handlers’ touch was clinical, barely (if ever) acknowledging Bucky’s status as a person.

Now, Bucky remained quiet, his mind sifting through everything James had told him before. He had no recollection of ever seeing him in Zola’s lab, but that didn’t mean anything really. Half the time he was so out of it he couldn’t remember his own name. The rest of the time, it was nothing but pain, blood, and Zola’s weasel-like face.

James grounded Bucky to the present by surrounding him. Draping a tentacle across Bucky’s shoulders while he drained some of the now-grayish water and refilling the tub with fresh, steaming hot water. Carding his hands through Bucky’s exceedingly dirty hair after pouring more of the green liquid on Bucky’s head. The faint hum Bucky made, once he felt the blunt tips of James’ fingers massaging his scalp, was answered by James’ pleased grunt.

Bucky’s awareness of James’ proximity prompted him to look at himself. His skin, which had turned pink from sitting in the bath; his legs, muscled and strong; his soft cock, half-floating, mostly swaying when he moved. It’d been the first time in a while he’d gotten a good look at it. He couldn’t help but wonder what, if anything, James thought of it. Making a mental note to ask James later, he leaned into James’ touch, drifting into caresses that left him in a dream-like state.

~o~

"--stay here trying to win the prize for laziest Bucky in all dimensions."

Eyes still closed, Bucky answered the first thing that came up to his mind. "Five more minutes."

"Fine go ahead and get all wrinkly then," James replied brightly.

The water that splashed Bucky’s face was considerably cooler than he’d expected. He ran his flesh hand over his face. "All right, all right. ‘m up! Guess I was still out of it, huh?"

James made a so-so gesture with his metal hand. "You zoned out really hard. I only noticed because I asked you a question and you didn’t answer. Tried to reach your mind but all I got was static. Not a good thing, but not a bad one either. Thought it’d be better to leave you be for a while."

Bucky sat up and stretched until his back cracked. "Didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry."

"Don’t worry about it. I had time to work on some stuff and you were only asleep for less than an hour," James answered. "How about we dry you up and I can take you back to your room?"

"Sure," Bucky said absentmindedly. He stood up with ease, testing his right leg. "But I don’t think you’ll have to carry me back. Leg feels fine to me now."

"Good. I needed to give my muscles a rest. You weight more than three elephants," James replied, swiftly ducking away from the spray of water Bucky had aimed at him.

Bucky’s guffaw was cut short when James threw a very fluffy red towel straight at his face.

~o~

The walk back to what James now called Bucky’s room was slow. He noticed a few details he’d missed the first time James had carried him through it. There were small blobs of light that illuminated the hallway, for example. They passed by the room Bucky now thought of as the lounge area as well as a couple of other rooms that had closed doors.

James had given Bucky a pair of plain black sweatpants and a short-sleeved t-shirt that matched the color of James’ tentacles. For a moment, Bucky had wanted to ask him about the clothes since it was obvious that James was always naked. Still, despite feeling relatively safe, he thought that it would be annoying or uncomfortable to walk around totally nude all the time.

In any case, Bucky smiled once he made the connection. He glanced at James who had chosen that exact moment to study the not-at-all interesting patterns of the floor. Out of the corner of his eyes, however, Bucky saw an unmistakeable flush on the side of James’ face. And, although it was incredibly arrogant of him, he enjoyed the feeling of smugness for making James blush.

"This is you," James said once they reached the door. He pointed at the nearest door. "That’s me. Feel free to knock on my door if you need anything, OK?"

"Will do," Bucky said in a flat voice, not wanting to look too closely at what had caused his mood drop.

"Something wrong?" James said, placing the tip of a tentacle on the bottom of Bucky’s chin and lifting his face up.

"No." Bucky closed his eyes. That he would feel shy about what he wanted to say was ridiculous. He was a goddamn grown man who had faced death so many times he had literally lost count. And yet.

James let go of Bucky’s chin. "What’s up?"

" ‘s nothing." Someone with his skills could make up a simple excuse or, at worst, sidestep James’ question entirely. He wasn’t sure if he _wanted_ to do that. The longer he remained silent, the smaller the window to deflect him became. "It’s--it’s really fucking silly," he stammered, eyes downwards.

"Try me," James replied with such amount of chill that Bucky was impressed even while having a minor and slow-motion freakout.

"Would you mind if I sleep in your bed?" Bucky asked the three tentacles that were closest to his bare feet. They shimmied a little. He lifted his gaze, having grown tired of waiting for an answer, and was met with James making an exaggerated shocked expression. "You’re _such_ an asshole."

"Right back at you," James said in between laughs.

"Fuck. You," Bucky snapped back. His face was hot. All he wanted to do was crawl under one of the floor tiles and not come out for another hundred years.

"Okay, I’ll admit it, I was being a dope,’ James said with a contrite look. "You had kind of shut down when I was bathing you. Who knew what you were about to ask me. I’m sorry for being a jerk."

Bucky nodded, turning around, and following James to his room.

~o~

The bedroom was bigger than Bucky could have imagined. The decoration was minimal: a wide and round dark green rug had been placed in front of yet another fireplace. There was a decently-sized bookcase on one side of the room, a large window with heavy, dark red drapes, and one of the largest beds Bucky had ever seen in his life. Raised on a platform, the round bed had what appeared to be at least half of all the pillows this side of the world on it.

James ping-ponged between Bucky and what he was gawking at. "Oh, sometimes I want to hold something," he said, half-shrugging before reaching the right side of the bed. "At least I don’t kick."

"About that," Bucky said, scratching the back of his neck, "I might. Um, not kick exactly. Kind of a light sleeper. There have been times when I wake up with no idea of where I am and my first instinct is to be ready in case someone attacks me."

He hadn’t shared his bed in who knows how long. Everything about this situation had too many possible red flags. Warning James was the least he could do. Wasn’t like he slept a lot to begin with (rarely more than 6 hours and that was on days he felt great.) Nevertheless, waking up, a gun in each hand and hyperaware of potential threats was the opposite of fun. (One night, he’d woken up with a rolled-up notebook and a toothpaste tube. The menace turned out to be a couple of cats fucking one house away.)

"Stop fretting and get in bed, Bucky," James said as he slid under the covers, dragging a few pillows with his tentacles. "Nothing and no one can harm you here."

"You sound very confident for someone who is about to share his bed with the likes of me," Bucky shot back, taking off the t-shirt, folding it, and placing it next to the bed’s platform. He placed his hands on the sweatpants waistband, momentarily weighing the pros and cons of wearing them to bed, opting to keep them on. James had already seen him naked. That was true. However, it was better to lesser the creeper factor.

"Trust me, Bucky," James said, then turned over to his right side.

~o~

The next morning or early afternoon, it could have been either really, started with Bucky’s legs being entwined with some of James’ tentacles. He hadn’t meant to roll into the center of the bed, but there he was, nose pressed against the back of James’ neck, his metal arm around James’ lower torso. Had Bucky been a good man, he would have disentangled himself as soon as he realized he was snuggling James. He buried his nose into James’ hair, inhaling the honey-like scent.

Bucky Barnes was not a good man.

"Hey," James said, twisting smoothly until he faced Bucky. The few pillowcreases on his cheek and jaw spurred a cushy feeling in Bucky’s heart. "You’re not much of a morning person, huh?"

"It depends," Bucky answered, the corners of his mouth curling up. He was pretty sure his hair resembled an angry tumbleweed. James raised his eyebrows. "I like incentives if I’m meant to be up this early."

James sat halfway, resting his head on his left hand. "And what kind of incentives are you talking about?"

Bucky was about to sass James when he felt several of James’ tentacles slither over and under Bucky’s legs, hugging them tight. He gasped, closing his eyes as a thrill ran down his spine, pulling his legs away just to see what James’ reaction would be. The tentacles held his legs tighter. Eyes open once again, Bucky lifted his metal hand and placed it on James’ lower hip, pleased when a small huff escaped James’ lips.

The heady mix of curiosity and attraction was making Bucky dizzy in an unexpectedly great way.

Bucky shivered, his mind buzzing with the way his body was reacting to James' touch. He wanted, sweet mother of god, he _ached_ for whatever James was willing to give him. One of James' tentacles slid over his stomach and kept going up, only coming to a stop when it reached his left nipple. Bucky took a deep breath and looked at James' eyes, so alike his own and yet so much more.

James smiled at him, knowing. He bit his bottom lip and hmmed. A wave of heat surged through Bucky's body when James shifted closer, only stopping to push Bucky against the bed. Between the sensation of James covering him and his own arousal, Bucky could only wait. Lips parted, he took in the face that was so familiar and the desire to kiss him until they were both breathless unfurled inside him. James Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. And it was then when he realized James was nervous too.

"I--I've never kissed myself before," Bucky said, half-laughing. "First time for everything I--"

It wasn't the press of James' lips that made Bucky feel weightless. It wasn't the tentacles gliding all over him, caressing every inch of exposed skin, a couple of them trying to tug Bucky’s sweatpants down.

"Idiot," James said lightly when they stopped kissing, rubbing the tip of his nose against Bucky's. He reminded Bucky of a big cat getting ready to pounce on prey.

Bucky didn’t mind getting caught. He was ready for James' next move.

 

THE END


End file.
